Hate Chronicles
by Failure Turtle
Summary: My name is Ken Kennedy, and I hate everything. Especially that woman. Hate doesn't even begin to describe what I feel for her. KennedyxOC
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Uh…After I pretty much fucking DIED during RAW…you all saw why. I'm not going to extrapolate on that. Well, after that happened, I thought of the title for this but then had to put a Superstar to it. I thought of doing Edge again, but…Emma wanted a Kennedy story and I think he works just splendidly for this story.**

**Kennedy…Kennedy's POV. Word. It's short because it's a starter chapter.**

They say it's impossible to hate everything.

I aim to be the one bastard to prove the aforementioned statement to be false.

Shall I start with the mere obvious?

I hate water because it doesn't have any taste to it. Yeah, I bet you weren't expecting that one, were you?

I hate air. You can't see it, but it's there. That's just creepy, kind of like child molesters and murderers. You usually don't see them, but they exist and are probably watching you at night while you're sleeping. Bet you'll close your blinds tonight.

I hate food because it makes you fat. I don't like looking at fat people. I don't like being fat. See a pattern?

I bet you think I love myself. Well, I don't. Hell, I wouldn't be friends with me, would you?

Do you want to know how I got this way? Well, I couldn't even tell you if I wanted to. It's none of your business, and quite frankly, I don't even remember. I've lived a life full of bullshit and lies, but I'm not trying to give you a sob story. Then again, who hasn't lived a life full of bullshit and lies these days? Show me a person who hasn't and I'll show you either someone who doesn't exist or someone who's been on some serious drugs since the day they left the womb.

Yes, I even hate wrestling. Shocking, I know. How can I hate my profession? If I hate it so much, why did I work so hard to get far in the business? Well, I never used to hate it. I'm employed by a company that doesn't give a shit and it has tarnished my views on the world's oldest sport. What a drag.

Don't confuse my asshole tendencies with being fake. I really do hate everything.

Especially that slut, Emma.

She screwed me over in more ways than one. I lost everything because of that conniving, trifling little whore.

Hate doesn't even begin to describe what I feel for her.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Kennedy's apology was bomb. Cody's Santino impression was…let's just say I kind of injured myself by falling over backwards and smacking my head on the wall from laughing so hard…**

**King Kennedy…Kennedy? I hope so. That would be better than Cryme Tyme selling Charlie Haas's mask. Word to Vinnie Mac.**

Men aren't supposed to hate sluts. We are supposed to cherish them and treat them with the utmost respect.

Well, with as much respect as we treat toilet paper. Use them once, dirty them up, then toss 'em.

But I already told you that I hate everything. Sluts are no exception.

Emma is a slut, therefore I hate her. She could be a porn star and I'd still hate her.

Then again, she might be a porn star or might have once been a porn star. With a whore like that, I don't know. I don't know what she's been doing with her life since I last saw her. Granted, I saw her like two days ago for five seconds, thus prompting this current angry outburst I'm currently going through.

I hate being angry.

Before that little incident two days ago, I hadn't seen her in three years. Three fucking years of peace and fucking quiet, but then little miss skank fest comes in and ruins it.

I hate peace and quiet.

It's not like she was just some ring rat to start out with. Okay, so she was just some ring rat to start off with. She was a ring rat turned WWE Diva. She was a less glorified version of Kelly fucking Kelly.

I hate Kelly fucking Kelly.

She just posed in ugly pictures for horny old men all the time. She hogged all the television time because she was just "so beautiful." I don't see what all the fuss was about. It's not like she's Megan Fox or something like that. She's just a woman, damnit.

I hate women. They're so…retarded.

Permanent PMS much?

Yeah, Emma was pretty much that in a nutshell. And let me tell you, she was pretty damn nutty. What kind of a freak signs a contract for something they know nothing about?

Okay, I guess the kind of freak that would do that is a freak that's obsessed with making easy money.

One more thing, Emma was _definitely_ easy.

I suppose I really shouldn't be saying such things about Emma. There's something _huge_ about that girl that I hate thinking about. And I mean it's _huge_.

I hate having conscious memories.

We were in Vegas, and what happens in Vegas certainly does NOT stay in Vegas.

A couple pulls of the slot machines and a few blackjacks later…

I still shudder to think about it.

Oh, have I mentioned that Emma is my ex-wife?


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Emma, don't die. I'm the only one that's allowed to die after watching RAW…or just after watching my love bring out my favorite tag team and act gangster…or just from the fact that they still allow him to have a microphone in his hands after he said "I like drama" and "I was a wee boy" in that interview with Matt Hardy.**

**Does anyone else think that Kennedy…Kennedy needs to shave that 'stache? I do.**

What? Didn't see that one coming?

Well, no one really does. Not with the way I talk about that bitch.

Can you see why I hate her now?

I hated that ring I bought her, too. That shit cost me way too much money, way too much pain, way too much time, and way too much energy.

And our wedding? It was held on the fifty yard line of Lambeau Field. Fuck yeah I had my wedding in Titletown. Where else? Emma didn't like it, but I don't care. Everyone was all, "Oh, Ken, this is her day. Everything should be perfect for her."

It was, assholes. Can't a guy have a single thing on his wedding day? The dumbass is getting married, too, you know.

I probably wouldn't even have asked her out if we didn't get drunk off of our asses together. I woke up the next morning hungover as a bitch and there she was next to me…

…And that was when I fell in love with her.

Yes, Ken Kennedy was in love. Key word there is _was_.

I hate love.

How could I have been so stupid? How could I have married such a slut? I knew what she was doing to and with John Cena, Randy Orton, Dave Batista, Chris Jericho, both Hardy brothers, CM Punk…That's all I know of, but I'm sure the list goes on. And quite frankly, I don't want to hear the list go on. It will just make me feel even more like an idiot.

She was the most beautiful girl in the world some time ago.

I hate beauty. It's overrated. A damn woman can be so physically gorgeous and be the most hideous creature in this history of hideous creatures.

But I'm not a history teacher. I'm Mister Kennedy.

I hate being Mister Kennedy. It's too stressful, and I hate stress.

Moving on…

So we were married for a year. The first six months were nice and just how being a newlywed couple should be. But then…

Her dresses got more low cut. Her skirts got shorter. Her ring gear looked like Kelly Kelly's after it got shrunk in the dryer.

She started making _me_ do the laundry. So I know that's not the worst thing in the world, but that was always her job. It was an unspoken agreement. I hate doing laundry.

But one day, I was doing said laundry. I checked the pockets of her jeans (which were the most conservative thing she owned at the time) to make sure that no change or anything would get caught in the washing machine. I wasn't snooping, I swear. I was just trying to protect my household appliances. Is that so wrong?

I pulled out this piece of paper. Okay, now I was curious, you know? I know mothers do this to their children all the time. So I open it and…

It had Randy fucking Orton's phone number on it.

Do I have a right to be mad? I think I do.

But that's not even the half of it.


End file.
